


Here

by EntropyDragon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Feels, Fluff, M/M, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntropyDragon/pseuds/EntropyDragon
Summary: A Good Omens oneshot showing the softer side of Crowley.





	Here

Aziraphale's senses prickle.  
It's a sight. A sound. A smell. A taste in the air.

A memory.

The angel stirs in his sleep.

The demon lazily opens a yellow eye.  
He blinks awake and lifts his head, careful not to move the arm wrapped around his sleeping partner.  
He whispers a tentative question.  
"Aziraphale?"  
No answer.

The angel sleeps, but no longer peacefully. Faint pieces of a memory created long ago have risen to the forefront of his consciousness. They swirl and collect for a moment, then settle into something more solid. More real.

Terrifyingly real. 

He remembers white, sterile walls. Blindingly bright light. Stern, cold faces. Angry faces. Angry faces and angry voices. Voices that tell him that he is wrong, that he is stupid, that he is ridiculous. Voices that say he must do as he is told or he will be punished, that he is foolish and there is no other way, that he is wrong even if he acts from the goodness of his heart. Voices that poke. Voices that prod. Voices that ridicule, scorn, sneer. Voices that tell him that he is soft.

The angel cries out.

It's more of a gasp than a cry, a small noise that could barely be heard if one were standing in the doorway of the lovers' bedroom. But Crowley is not standing in the doorway of his own bedroom. He is in bed, so tightly intertwined with his partner that he hears the sound almost before it has left the angel's mouth. Crowley matches his angel breath for breath, heartbeat for frantic heartbeat. He moves a hand to the angel's head and caresses him. He touches gently, tenderly, as tenderly as a demon of Hell can.  
"Shh, angel. You're okay. You're okay. I'm here."  
He is surprised by the words that flow so easily out of his mouth, by the very notion that his mere presence could be a comfort to anyone. But as surprising as this revelation is, Crowley knows, deep down, that it is right. 

He continues the slow, delicate stroking of golden curls as the angel tosses and turns, continues the steady stream of gently reassuring nothings as the angel mutters and murmurs. After a few minutes, the angel's erratic breathing steadies. His frantic heartbeat slows. The tormenting voices in the angel's head fade into silence. The blinding white light fades into the comforting glow of a warm summer's day. Crowley feels the tenseness and anxiety leave the angel's body as Aziraphale snuggles deeper into the demon's welcoming embrace.

Crowley admires the beauty of a single golden curl and remembers how long it took the pair to finally come together. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

The demon plants a soft kiss on the angel's head and moves his arm to wrap around the Angel's body as he settles back onto the pillows. He whispers into his angel's ear.

"Everything's going to be okay, Angel. You're alright."

Aziraphale stirs. A faint smile flits across his face.

"I'm here, Aziraphale. I'm always right here."


End file.
